Daydream Believer
by Queen-of-stupidity
Summary: He ends up falling for the girl in the library.


Warnings: Bulgarian swear words.

* * *

He ends up falling for the girl in the library.

Those sleepy eyes that haunt him so, the nameless girl who sits at his table (after he's finished running every errand for Karkaroff), the only one who smiles when she sees him. Sometimes he hopes that she smiles because she likes him, others he tries to convince himself that it is meaningless, she probably beams at everyone.

At first, he falls for that girl she sometimes talks to, the pretty one, the kind of one you'd take to Graduation Ball, or some party, if you wanted to show off, he's head over heels for her (for about a day before he hears her open her mouth), but then that feeling comes to develop whenever he sees the brunette girl, silently reading her book, occasionally tilting her head up towards the ceiling as though she were in some daydream. Not beautiful he thinks, she's striking, fresh, different from everyone else.

He stares at her until it's black and white and white and black: he cares for her.

And he starts to change a little bit, for her, to get her to acknowledge him, he shaves off his beard (he heard English women don't like that sort of thing from a boy in his class), starts to pull out his hefty wallet whenever she's around, as if to check how much he has (a great deal).

He ditches his glasses and pretends he's reading great long English books (when, despite his understanding of the English language, he can barely comprehend a word of Shakespeare), feigning all this deep thought when all he can actually think about is how pretty she is, the English girl with the pale skin and the big brown eyes that shine like the moon.

Somewhere along the way, he learns English Wizarding bands suck (he had hoped to start a conversation with her to no avail), that these girls like to wear their skirts at less-than-respectable lengths, English tea truly is wonderful, divination isn't nearly as fun as it sounds and that they really do like to use the word 'bloody' in the UK.

He starts to pick up little things about her, stuff he really shouldn't be noticing, how she likes to wear woolly scarves and he begins wondering about things like 'what's her favourite colour?' (Blue, he decides, blue would suit her). Her imperfections and flaws, When he thinks about her, it feels like he's floating on air and he swears to almighty merlin that stars form in her chocolatey eyes.

He doesn't tell anyone about her because he's scared they'll laugh at his silly little fantasy.

Young, he assumes after a while, younger than he is, maybe fourth, fifth year? He doesn't recognise the name on her textbook (it doesn't matter anyway, he's open-minded) but he doesn't know all of the English Pureblood titles (he can remember a few - Black, Malfoy, Parkinson), the Slytherin people, the ones all of his friends hang around with them, god knows why.

But the boys like that - the kurovi glavi of the world, get the girls, he thinks bitterly. Not the doggedly nice guy who spends all of his time polishing Karkaroff's apples or studying for some big test to keep his grades at perfection level, memorising figures like a robot, no it's the men who treat women like scum but have the best hair (and the leather jackets and cigarettes) get the prettiest women hanging onto their feet, whispering words of praise and adoration.

Her first words to him are "Pass me that book please," midway through a yawn, which he of course, willingly, almost eagerly obliges to and she looks up at him with those dancing eyes and gives him that smile again. That voice is just how he imagined it, rapid, intelligent and slightly condescending, but with hints of warmth inside it, not cupcake-sweet or flirty or a cat-like purr, but just her, raw and plain and simple.

He returns the favour as he passes over the book she asked for, nodding his head at her (probably like a lunatic, but he doesn't care.)

Jam. It's what she smells of when he first talks to her. Raspberry, maybe strawberry jam, the kind Hogwarts supplies for their toast in the morning. In Durmstang, jam is a delicacy, mostly they just provide toast and butter for breakfast, very boring, very, very dull, at Hogwarts they have a selection of flavours (orange, blackberry, peach)

He jabs a finger towards the back of the room. "Ugly." he says and for a minute she thinks he's talking about her, but then she realises he's pointing to the goblin-head rug on the other side of the library. He watches her face carefully for a reaction, until she grins and slides him the book she's reading.

Goblin rights.

"Take it." she tells him. "It's a good book."

It's the first one from Hogwarts library he enjoys.

When he paints that night, he paints her face on his easel.

And if he can't sleep, he thinks of her.

Dead. That's how he feels, hollow and dead inside, because he knew that it would happen, he saw all the little furtive glances Krum thought nobody else noticed, the ones he had sent her himself and he knew the Yule Ball was coming up but he didn't have the courage to ask - and, and, and now he had lost his chance. He's dead and gone and this is his funeral, a hopeless daze, eyes blurry, fingernails clenched into his palm as he looks down at the last chapter of the Goblin Rights book, desperately trying to avoid that perfect little face flushing with happiness.

Nothing feels right anymore.

It's all over because Viktor Krum has won.

This, this is just like his own fourth year, when he fell for Agneta Eklund, the girl with the eyes that reminded him of the sea, who was of course more interested than a man who could fly around on a broom all day than a man who could recite the entire Charms textbook, like all the other girls, the ones he thought were unique, like this girl, who had to fall for Krum as well and fit the stereotype of all those girls who fall for the ublyudki of the world, over and over again until he's sick of it. Nobody notices the quiet boy in the corner, studying the same books every single day before he can recite in his sleep.

Even Karkaroff likes Krum better than him, Karkaroff who he runs around doing every tiny little thing for, Karkaroff who never bothered to learn his name, even he prefers Krum, his little golden-wonder. Even some dumb, inanimate object clearly loves Krum more than little Karkaroff's aid, because he's certainly not the one chosen to represent Durmstrang in the Triwizard Tournament, no, he's never the one to get the glory, win at something other than failing.

Scream, that's what he wants to do, scream and shout, or punch something but he can't and he doesn't because she's just a girl and there are more important things, like his studies (and Madam Pince would kick him out of the library.

Occasionally he wonders if he had asked her, would she have said yes, or would she have held out for Krum? If only he had made up his mind, plucked up the courage he so lacks to ask her to the Yule ball, then he would have been on her arm instead, he could've stopped it.

But the way she looks right now, overjoyed, a red blush spread across her cheeks is evidence enough, that she cares for Viktor and not for him, why would she, when she doesn't know his name and he doesn't know hers? She tucks a rose into her pocket and he glares at the sight of it.

Puppy love, he decides it is, something that he will get over as quick as a flash, just the same as Agneta Eklund (and then he remembers it took him a year to get over her), except this time she is nameless (and he tries so desperately to make her faceless), unknown to him, she even lives in a different country (well so does Agneta but they still attend school together), here, in the country that once seemed so vibrant, now monotone and colourless - he never even got to see the London Eye.

And he decides he really hates the UK. (because she lives in it).

It takes him a while, but he gets over the girl in the library who went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. The girl with the wrinkled socks and the hair that smells like cherry blossom. It hurts but he does it, forgets her.

Because she is just a mindless daydream of his, a silly fantasy that's never to come true.

And he isn't a daydream believer.

* * *

Based on the song Daydream Believer by the Monkees

I don't own:

Harry Potter (belongs to JKR)

The Monkees


End file.
